In the Twilight Fading
by Remembrance
Summary: I think I write better when I have absolutely no idea what's going to happen beforehand- by reading this you do not commit to another 20 parts!


**Author's Note: I didn't put any names in this. I thought it would be much more meaningful if you were allowed to use a little imagination with this one. I am very much going masunomi style with this one. It is the ending to a story I'm working on under a different name, and I wanted to write it down. I also wanted to put some of the author's nominated for the Golden Toads to shame (fat chance, ha). The poem at the end belongs to Christal Rockwood. Enough rambling. On with the angst.**  
  
She fell to the ground, just like in all the clichés. Diving in front of her love, sacrificing her life to save his. Taking the bullet meant him. The story line was as old as dirt. But story lines aren't supposed to happen in real life.  
  
It really did go in slow motion. That part surprised him. He had never seen himself as a particularly dramatic person. Maybe this was the way tragedies played themselves out. No matter, though, because this was really happening. She was really falling. Her hair splayed out in a wild, crazy pattern. Her lips formed a perfect "o" of surprise. Her eyes flashed a million colors in one second. He did what any person would, if they were faced with a fairy tale situation. He ran to her.  
  
"Not her! Oh, God, why her?" He could hear anguished cries in the background. He willed them all to shut the hell up. Did they know who exactly they were talking about? She was invincible, omnipotent. They were speaking like this blow would affect her! They all needed to shut the hell up.  
  
"I'm sorry." The first words out of her mouth. Not quite the reaction he had expected.  
"What? Sorry for what? What do mean, Squirt?" He called her by the affectionate nickname that had run the course of their friendship. She smiled, a ghost of a thing, and sighed wearily, like an old woman. The sigh was a scary reality, and he was filled with dread, cold and thick.  
  
"How could I know I would have to leave you? How, when I know you still need me so?" He wanted to hit her. Anger pounded in his ears and the vein in his neck.  
"Shut up, shut up. You are NOT leaving me. Do you understand the words that I am speaking? You have been to hell and back. You have been through more than anyone I have ever known has. You have lived a thousand lifetimes of pain, and been all the stronger for it. This is not the end. You are you, and you can't be dying." She smiled again. Was that a good sign?"  
  
"My dearest friend, an intelligent person like you can't allow judgment to be clouded by- by emotion, by feelings. After all, even the day must give way to the night." He knew then. Something burst inside of him, and he felt once more like he was trapped in the end of a cheesy romance novel. Only one thing to do. He leaned down until their noses were touching.  
  
"I love you in the morning and in the afternoon. I love you in the evening, _underneath the moon._" He sang under his breath, knowing that the playful childhood reference was perfectly fitting. Acceptable. Wanted. She gave him a butterfly kiss, although he didn't know if it was intentional, and he leaned back to stare into her face. She was glowing, positively glowing as he brushed her nose with his lips. She closed her eyes and opened them again.   
  
One could almost feel the life ebbing away from her, in thick sliver strands. Those strands held together so many memories, so many laughs, so many tears. Oh, the times they had snuck out of bed at night, tiptoeing about, planting booby traps for unsuspecting innocents to find the next day. The times they had ditched class to go for a quick swim in the lake, making up incredible stories for the reasons they were soaked to the bone when they got back. He remembered her in the main town, picking up the little children that ran rampant, and swinging them in her arms. He wanted to snatch up those silver strands. Do something with them. Then he realized that was what he was supposed to do. So he did. He gathered them all up, and slipped them away.   
  
"And she gathered these things and pondered them in her heart," he whispered, just loud enough for himself to hear. He knew now exactly how Mary had felt.  
  
"What are you thinking?" she asked in a voice that was clear and soft. What am I thinking? He wondered.   
  
"I'm thinking that…I'm thinking about…well, I guess I don't know. Maybe I'm thinking about how much I'm unsure of. Maybe I'm thinking of how much I know. But I'm pretty sure that I'm trying not to think much of anything. I think that thinking is bad for your health." He wasn't sure if it was the appropriate time to be making up confusing strands of nonsense, but anything to make her smile. Smiles were a universal language. More cheesy cliché, but truth is truth, no matter how you slice and dice it. If a picture spoke a thousand words, than her smiles spoke a million pictures.  
  
"You are a goof ball," she whispered. Her voice was getting more breathy now, weaker. Suddenly this wasn't a bittersweet trip down memory lane.   
  
"This just got real," he whispered back, voice filled with wonderment and realization. She nodded slightly, and he could see her concentrating on something. She opened her lips and he leaned his ear to her head.  
  
"In a relationship, it is obvious that hugs are more important than kisses. Anyone can press their lips up against someone else's; anyone can shove their tongue in someone's mouth. But a perfect hug is an art. There is nothing more beautiful than being safe in an embrace and nothing more perfect than the combination of strength and gentleness. That's what a hug is. A balance of both." She mustered up her remaining energy and steeled her voice. "I want to die in a hug."  
  
He was crying now. And for the first time in his life, it didn't matter. He gave up on the fruitless attempts to convince her she would live. All he wanted was to give her what she wanted. If she had asked for a handful of stars, he was fully convinced that he would have found some for her. But a hug, a hug he could do. In fact, he wasn't sure who he was doing it for. The fact that he was helpless never crossed his mind. In his world, and in her's, he was giving what she needed far beyond any medicine, any doctor.   
  
He slipped his arms under her as carefully as if he was lifting an armful of fragile china. Her head rested in the nestle of his arm and he pulled her close, taking in every detail with a clarity still unchallenged. No one dared to disturb the two who lay in a tumble of limbs on the field. Even from far away, the severity of the moment was as easy to see as the difference between life and death.  
  
Just as she was fading away, he heard it. A tiny mumble of a voice crept up his shirt and curly-cued its way into his ears.  
  
"He holds me in his arms to keep, here shall I forever sleep. I lay my head upon his chest, and all my pains and woes to rest. Once again my heart is broken. Perhaps one day I'll be awoken." A shudder passed through her body, and her angelic slumped like a tiny sleeping child's. He smiled through his tears. That's what she was now. A tiny sleeping, angelic child. He kissed her hair and closed his eyes, finishing her last tribute.  
  
"But never could I anticipate. That I could lose a love so great."  
  
  



End file.
